Luca didn't stop for another full hour. The surrounding green finally broke apart, thinning past a scatter of stubborn shrubs and opening into a final stretch of packed dirt that could only be interpreted as a road.
Luca staggered over its rough edge, worn shoes scraping against the ground, and then… he dropped.
"Ugh—!" Treiton was flung down with him, landing hard on his backside in the dirt. He had managed to walk a little more during the long stretch, but his body had protested long before Luca's, forcing Luca to carry him nearly the entire way. "You alright?"
For a while, Luca didn't move at all, motionless except for the uneven rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, he released a low, pained groan. "No."
"You're insane," Treiton murmured, a remark laced with heavy admiration for the boy—the 'servant'—though that title was rapidly losing all meaning. He forced himself upright, muscles screaming their protest. Clearing his throat, he added, "We need to think about what's next."
Luca groaned, rolling over like even that motion might kill him. "Can't it be waiting until I die?"
Trei shook his head. "Not this time."
His friend didn't respond, and Treiton made his second true vow as he looked at him. Even if I wasn't your friend to begin with… you saved me from death twice now. I'll find a way to repay you.
"We need a cart," Treiton said after that silent promise. "Since we're not going back home, we'll have to head to another decent-sized town."
Luca blinked, pushing himself up on his elbows. "A cart? You think anyone's going to let us on looking like this?"
They both examined their sweat-soaked, torn rags. Clothing so ruined it barely qualified as clothing at all. Trei shook his head. "Money is the language of the world. Anyone can appreciate each other for a price."
Luca rolled his eyes at the sentiment but still reached into his pocket, pulling out the pouch unbidden. "Twenty coppers," he said. "No one bothered searching me before tossing us off."
Treiton's gaze lingered on the coins… then on Luca's outfit. Had he really let his friend look like that? If they hadn't searched him, likely his clothing was the same as before. It wasn't like the former Treiton Hale who had been stripped of everything and thrown away.
Before he could reach for the pouch, Luca tossed it toward him.
"These should be yours, you're the lord."
Treiton caught it, then shook his head, his tone turning firm and solemn. "No. Not anymore."
Luca stared at him, taken aback.
"They tossed us off a cliff together," he said quietly. "I doubt I have much of a title now. We're in it together." He thumbed a few of the coins while opening the bag before tossing it back. "You should keep it. It's your money."
Luca caught it again, looking even more stunned.
Using the familiarity of their past bond, Treiton continued, "Hell, you're the only one who treated me as more than a nuisance even among my own family. I'd say you're closer than my brothers." He felt a little guilty employing sentiment like this, but he truly had come to appreciate the kid seven years his junior mentally.
"Brothers?" Luca echoed, voice almost reverent.
Treiton nodded.
They sat for a while longer, letting silence settle gently over them as they regained their breath. In all that time, not a single person or cart passed by.
"When I first entered the Hale territory, I had to spend a fee just to get inside the town," Luca finally said, offering something of his own to the conversation. "And that was required weekly until I found steady work."
Treiton considered it. He'd worked all sorts of jobs to pay his way through his education. Sweating over fryers, balancing plates stacked too high, and even a brief stint in construction before setting out on expedition to pursue his passion for comparative anatomy.
"We could get work. Maybe a restaurant or an inn as servers."
Luca stared at him, blinking slowly—once, twice—before bursting out in sudden, uncontrollable laughter.
Treiton returned the reaction with a baffled frown. "...What?!"
"You really must have hit your head hard," Luca gasped, wiping at the corners of his eyes. "Restaurant servers?" he wheezed, losing all the breath he'd just regained. "Don't think many guys out there are interested in our… services."
"Why not?" Treiton asked, mind scrambling through memories for context, but the realization struck too late. Luca beat him to it.
"Look, do what you want. But I'm not spending the night with a fully fed guard," he said, thumping the dirt with his fist for emphasis. "I'm sure someone will be interested though."
Treiton had forgotten what kind of era he was actually living in. This wasn't the kind of world where an average restaurant had neat servers with notepads in their hands. No, this was a world where tablecloths doubled as napkins, and where young ladies and women were almost solely employed as servers. Servers of all kinds, not just food.
"This won't ever be spoken of," Treiton demanded sharply.
Luca shrugged, sitting up now. "Who am I gonna tell? It'll just be a secret between brothers."
After a while, a few carts did appear on the road, but after a bit of asking around, most were merely heading to nearby farming villages. Small hamlets whose main purpose was paying tithe to Lord Hale. Boredom settled in after some time, the conversation naturally fading as both of them drifted into their thoughts.
Alright… let's see, Treiton thought.
He had noticed before that the strange thing in his head reacted to his will, at least to some degree. In danger, it warned him. In death, it brought him back to where he had been born. And with a clear desire…
Another cart approached carrying a middle-aged man slumped over with a tired curve to his shoulders, deliberately ignoring the two of them.
I want to know, Treiton thought firmly, shaping the desire with deliberate intent. Show me.
[Bzzz! Symbiotic Instinct activated.]
A faint, translucent image materialized before him just as real and unreal as before. A bluish outline of an older man appeared, suspended in a seated position, hovering in the air with numbers floating below.
[Name: Unknown. Strength: 1.25, Agility: 1.2, Stamina: 1.3]
Treiton stared as the projection wavered, then dismissed it with a slight flicker of will. He leaned back on his hands. So, it's anyone I focus on? It's too early to tell, but that seems promising.
The numbers replayed in his mind. The man wasn't weak, not compared to himself anyway. In fact, he was stronger than Treiton by a decent margin. But what struck Treiton more was the realization that the boy next to him—still barely a teenager—outclassed a fully grown adult.
The words left his mouth before he could restrain them. "How's your stamina so insane?"
Luca's head jerked up from the dirt. "Huh?"
"I mean," Treiton added quickly, scrambling to cover the question, "you carried me for around an hour after our hike. That's insane, isn't it?"
Luca's mouth closed, opened, then closed again, his gaze drifting down to his scuffed shoes. Treiton watched him in silence, suddenly aware he might have stepped onto something he wasn't meant to touch.
"Hey," he said softly, nudging Luca's shoulder. "It's no big deal. I was only—"
"No." Luca rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, then let his arm fall limply. He glanced toward another cart in the far distance coming toward them. "I didn't really answer your question… from before."
Treiton tilted his head, brow lifting. "What question—Oh." The answer hit him mid-sentence. "Warriors." He hadn't caught it earlier, but now he realized Luca's answer had been more of a sidestep than an explanation.
"My father was a guard," Luca said. "Back in another province. Not anything special like a Warrior or anything—just a merchant escort." He gave a short, self-mocking snort. "Still, he met plenty of low-level Warriors. Most of the time they ignored him, but he would study them during their training."
Treiton's lips quirked with faint interest.
Luca continued, "He learned this breathing thing. Always said it helped someone's chances of becoming a true Warrior. He never got far before he ended up…" He gestured weakly, the unfinished thought hanging between them. "Anyway, he taught me, after years of trial and error."
Treiton narrowed his eyes. Not in suspicion, but genuine curiosity. "You came to the Hale estate when you were fourteen, right?"
Luca blinked. "Yeah."
"So before that, you were training with a guard who knew techniques meant to lead toward Warrior practice." Treiton leaned his head back, connecting the pieces. "For a servant, that… seems unusual."
Luca let out an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't train that much. Father just made me do the breathing exercises whenever he remembered. Said if I was gonna have a future, I might as well be useful."
The warmth in his voice was something Treiton hadn't yet heard from him.
Treiton reached over and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "It worked. You're not useless. Otherwise, I'd be dead."
Luca stiffened at the words, then chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not something amazing. Just breathing. I still get exhausted afterward." He hesitated, then glanced up to meet Treiton's eyes. "I… could show you, if you want."
Treiton straightened, noticing the approaching cart getting closer—this one with its back piled high under a stretched tarp. Goods meant for selling, and a tiny farming village wouldn't buy enough. "You're sure?" he asked, the question sincere. Maybe it was his behavior from before, but Treiton Hale had no knowledge of any techniques at all like this.
Luca snorted. "I was never told not to teach it. Just to be careful."
Trei patted his friend's back, smiling at his earnestness, even if it was a little naïve. "You're a good guy… Alright, show me." He couldn't resist his curiosity, easily stepping into shameless behavior.
"I can only do it once, and it'll be quick. After that, it's up to you," Luca warned. "If you can succeed on your own, I can show you again, but it's dangerous before that. It'll be only one circulation."
Treiton gazed at him, confused. Earlier it had sounded like Luca's father had needed to study this for years.
Sensing the unspoken question, Luca simply spun his finger, gesturing for Treiton to turn around. "Dad had to study, but the next generation has it easier."
Treiton followed the instruction, and Luca's palm settled gently between his shoulder blades, fingers spreading with practiced familiarity. "Pay attention to the feeling and my breathing. There's this stuff in the air that's all around us. An energy called Aether. You're going to feel it," Luca said. Without any further warning, something changed.
Trei felt heat first.
Aether?
The word snagged his concentration. He wanted to dissect it, demand more information, but Luca's voice cut in as if he sensed the shift.
"Don't get distracted," he said. "Feel it."
It began as a faint spark beneath Luca's palm, then spread, growing hotter. Not burning, but a deep, penetrating warmth that slipped past muscle and bone, threading into every path inside his body. His mind snapped to full awareness, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensation.
He tried to focus, but the feeling was almost a seductive distraction, tugging insistently at his thoughts.
Suddenly—
[Aether Consumption Instinct activated… Host body not suited for True Aether Consumption. Analyzing current method.]
The message flashed against the darkness behind his eyelids.
The warmth moved like a slow river, drifting from his back up along his spine, spreading across his shoulders, then sinking down through his ribs. Each breath seemed to tug it farther along, syncing perfectly with the expansion and contraction of his lungs.
But even quicker than it came, the sensation fled—vanishing in an instant as Luca's hand lifted from his back.
Before Treiton's eyes could open, another message unfurled across the darkness behind his eyelids:
[Aether Integration: 0 / 100%. Chance of injury: High. Recommendation: Start immediately and further analyze!]
Treiton's eyes snapped open, the urge to exclaim how astonishing—how utterly otherworldly—the sensation of Aether had been rising to his tongue. But the first thing he saw froze the words in his throat.
Luca's face was bright red, flushed like a boiled lobster, sweat streaming down his skin in renewed rivulets.
"You look terrible," Treiton blurted out before he could think.
Luca shot him an incredulous stare. "You're welcome."